


Scatha

by Thorinsmut



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, dragon romance, fic of a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scatha came to the Withered Heath.</p><p>Scatha, scourge of the northern seas. Wingless Scatha who swallowed ships whole and devoured whales. Cold Scatha who breathed frost and ruin. Terrible Scatha, great dragon of Ered Mithrin where the walls of ice reached for the sky and the sea beyond was as black and cold as death.</p><p>She was the most beautiful creature Smaug had ever laid eyes upon.</p><p>Scatha was... <i>less</i> impressed with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scatha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieJacquelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieJacquelyn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [An Expected Journey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/658324) by [MarieJacquelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieJacquelyn/pseuds/MarieJacquelyn). 



> This work is a gift to mariejacquelyn. Scatha is mentioned as Smaug's mate in her fic An Expected Journey, the mother of his eggs.
> 
> Gorgeous art of them can be seen here:  
> http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/image/84264553991  
> The fic description is ganked from there.

.

Scatha lay still in the shallow water of the river. It was large enough that she could lay completely submerged, large enough that the coldness of the harsh winter did not freeze it over, but no more than that.

Scatha lay still and watched. The unusual cold of the winter had extended her hunting grounds far south, where she could hunt different animals than thrived in the cold of Ered Mithrin. It was nothing like hunting whales. Individually they were tiny, the ungulates she lay in wait for, but collectively their herds were more than enough to soothe her hunger.

And their bones would make a fine addition to her hoard. She targeted specifically those with the largest antlers.

Scatha lay hidden in the water and watched, and waited. The herd approached the water cautiously, but they were worried about predators of the land, not those of the water.

Scatha waited for the perfect moment, tensing to strike, but she never had her chance. A cocky little fire drake, flashy red and gold, swooped down out of the empty sky – breathing fire to burn the animals that he did not scatter.

Scatha roared her rage as she exploded from the water. The drake tucked his wings to spin, artistically dodging her frost, eyes wide.

“You spoiled my hunt! Your wings will make a fine addition to my collection!” she hissed, but by the time she'd coiled herself to strike at him he had escaped the range of her teeth.

Coward, fleeing through the _air_.

On land Scatha was unbeatable.

In water... hah.

“Face me!” she demanded, throwing more frost after him, which he dodged. He did not dare, though, and she left off chasing him.

At least she'd warned _him_ off. The flashy little coward would not be bothering _her_ hunts again, and Scatha turned back to her river basin.

The herd the fire drake had burnt was waiting, and Scatha ate them – the taste of char bitter on her tongue.

.

Scatha had not expected to see the fire drake again, but it was only a few days later when she did. She had settled herself comfortably where a herd would pass, and waited. The animals came sooner than expected, and more of them, and faster – fleeing wildly before the fire drake.

Scatha blocked their path, breathing cold death upon them and snapping them up in big gulping mouthfuls. She snarled at the fire drake, expecting him to flee and leave her to her kill, but he landed instead – though lightly. Ready to fly away.

“For the hunt I ruined... I am Smaug.” He introduced, “This type of hunting is easier with two.” he continued, his voice dripping honeyed oil. “Together we could...”

“I am Scatha.” She interrupted, frost pouring through her teeth to pool around her, “Devourer of ships and whales, scourge of the north seas. I do not _share_ my hunts.”

Scatha returned to her meal, setting aside the finest sets of antlers for her hoard... but Smaug _still_ had not left. She glared at him where he watched her.

“Fly away.” She suggested, “Before I decide to add your pretty scales to my hoard.” The red and gold _would_ be a beautiful contrast to most of her collection, and she breathed frost at him. He dodged and threw himself into the air, flying away, and she snarled after him.

But her meal was waiting, and she returned to eating.

.

Smaug did not approach Scatha again, but he did not _leave_.

He hunted on her periphery, and as he did not disturb her hunts she did not hunt him down and destroy him. He burnt animals that escaped her, but the number he chased in her direction compensated for the loss. She grew used to his presence.

So long as he did not get too close she ignored him.

At first.

But there was the time a fat herd broke in the wrong direction and she called out to Smaug to block them. And he _did._

They circled, breathing fire and frost, and when the herd was subdued their eyes met over the kill. Scatha could claim it all. It was _her_ hunt, and he did not dare fight her for it.

“I do not like the burnt ones.” She said, throwing one at him. Smaug snapped it neatly out of the air, and she ignored him while they divided the spoils.

They ate, close enough together she could have struck him and torn his vulnerable wings. Close enough he could have seared her with his flame.

They did not.

.

Smaug took to scouting and telling Scatha where the animals were congregating. From the air he could see great distances, track the herds better than she could with scent on the wind alone.

Smaug did not concentrate only on the largest concentrations of animals – but also on finding as many different _kinds_ as possible.

Still, they did not share _many_ hunts. Mainly he was on the periphery of her hunts.

.

He made Scatha laugh.

Smaug had scouted a new herd, and once he was done with telling her how to reach it he had stayed walking beside Scatha – occasionally taking short flights to keep up – just talking about little nothings.

He'd told a story, a ridiculous little story, but the way he brought it to life with his voice it was as though she were there watching his youthful embarrassment.

And she laughed.

Smaug fell out of the air at the sound, his eyes wide.

She lazily threw a little frost at him to get him to stop staring, which he neatly dodged. He laughed himself as he took to the air, brilliant gold and scarlet scales shining in the winter sunlight as he ascended.

.

Scatha hunted through the winter in the Withered Heath, and Smaug came and went on his quick wings.

They shared tales, sometimes, in quiet hours. She told him of the ships and whales she hunted, of the currents of the sea, of the territorial disputes she _always_ won until she feared nothing on land or in the sea. He told her of the world to the south, of the currents of the air, of his golden hoard.

He offered it to her – gold and jewels as a courting gift, and she laughed at him.

“I am the scourge of the north. My nest is the bones of ships, the horns of whales, and the scales of my challengers. What need have I of _gold_ , fire drake?” she spat, frost in her teeth, “What could you _possibly_ offer that would tempt me?”

He had no answer, and she threw her frost at him until he left her alone.

.

Smaug was gone, and Scatha hunted alone.

He had probably returned to his nest of gold to pine.

Just as well – Scatha _always_ turned suitors away. She had never met a Dragon worthy of her. She had no need of a cocky fire drake with gleaming scales to match the brightness of his flame.

She hunted _just as well_ alone.

She did _not_ miss his company.

.

Scatha lay in the shade of a small hill, hiding from the sunlight that was growing too warm for comfort.

She was lying there because it was too warm. _Not_ because she was moping.

She did not believe her senses at first when she scented the tang of Smaug's fire on the wind. It grew stronger and stronger, and finally Scatha sat up to look for him.

Smaug was high, but he angled himself to let the currents of the wind bring him down to her – and he was carrying something.

He lay it in front of her when he landed, obviously tired from a long flight but his eyes bright.

It was an animal, dead but still fresh, and she had _never_ seen the like. It was large, larger than a horned whale, but obviously a creature of the land. It had large ears, and tusks, and it's _face_ was strange indeed, its nose a long ropelike appendage.

“It is called an oliphaunt, or a mûmak.” Smaug said. “The largest of land beasts. The Men use them as beasts of burden and engines of war in Harad to the south.” he explained, and told her tales of an arid land, sandstorms and heat and nomads... of waiting to time his hunt when the wind was right to bring him back north _fast_ enough.

“You flew all that way... to bring me an oliphaunt?” Scatha asked.

“You have no such bones in your nest.” Smaug said, “What dragon of the north would? It is a better courting offer than gold?” He watched her hopefully.

Scatha silently bent down to taste the new delicacy of oliphaunt – careful to preserve the bones. She fancied she could taste the dry heat of the land it came from in the strong gamey meat.

Scatha coiled herself around the oliphaunt as she savored it, and if a loop of her tail wrapped itself loosely around the furnace heat of a certain fire drake to keep him close, that was her own business.

And _he_ certainly wasn't complaining.

.


End file.
